What Happens in Apocrypha…
by Meredith Sock
Summary: There is no greater pleasure on Nirn than to absorb a dragon's soul. When the Dovahkiin discovers a way to suspend that sensation, to feel it endlessly, she will take any risk, even putting her life in jeopardy. Miraak/Dragonborn, PwP.


Before you begin your lecture, I want to precise that english is not my first language, so, please, be indulgent. I'm not saying you shouldn't tell me if something is terribly wrong though, I truly want to improve my writing skills.

Some sentences are written in the dragon language, their translations are at the end of the text.

* * *

**What Happens In Apocrypha…**

Miraak's spells were becoming rare as his and his staff's magical reserves were diminishing. His foe's dodges were slowing down as her endurance withered. They were weakening. Each harassed muscle detached their souls a little more from their bodies, fed that unwanted link, that silent call, which sang in their heads like the voices of a hundred dragons. Ignoring this warm suggestion, that promise of limitless power in exchange of nothing more than her capitulation, the woman attempted to bend her bow for the hundredth time, but her fingers met an empty quiver. She cursed between her teeth, threw her weapon to the ground and unsheathed Dragonsbane. Three words on her tongue, she prepared to charge.

_WULD NAH KEST_

In a blink, she was facing her opponent and, more than ever, the desire to devour his soul and offer him hers blinded her judgement. That paradox was upsetting, enraging, obsessing, but more than anything, it brought her an unsettling comfort, a feeling of balance, infinite and fragile. Those distracting reflexions slowed her down and her blow barely scratched the enemy's chest. He still had to swallow a pained growl and, showing more care than usual in front of that enchanted blade, he shouted.

_ZUN HAAL VIIK_

The saber hit the ground, slid away, and Miraak rushed at the woman, raising his own sword over his head. A surprised gasp escaped her mouth when a tentacle jumped out of the weapon. She managed to avoid it though, then used the power Nocturnal had bestowed on her, blending in the shadows, ignoring the inescapable lights of Apocrypha, even stealing a backward movement to her opponent. He observed the emptiness where she had stood seconds earlier, looked right, looked left, lowered his head and chuckled tiredly.

"Hiding is beneath you, Dragonborn, and useless" he said, raising his gaze "I _know_ where you are."

She ignored those words and attacked, her dagger drawn, but he wasn't lying. He anticipated her movements and adopted a defensive stance when she charged. Perhaps his fatigue got the better of him, because he let go of his weapon when she reappeared in a violet flash and sliced the skin of his arm. He spat an insult, but caught her wrist before she could reach a vital organ, throwing a violent shiver on their exhausted bodies; for an instant they were paralyzed, struck by their contradictory desires.

She tried to unsheathe her second dagger, but a moment of hesitation took away all opportunity, letting Miraak catch her other arm, immobilizing her completely. She fought wildly for the freedom of her body and mind, but the first Dragonborn was stronger, taller, giving him an insurmountable advantage in hand-to-hand combat. She felt herself slip, be absorbed by the sensation of their two souls colliding; she had to flee, quickly, or she would lose control. Her foot met his leg, kicked it just strongly enough to break his balance, and they both fell. She let out a groan, without knowing if it came from the pain in her back or the sudden proximity of their beings, then realized one of her hands was now free. She grasped his robes, to ensure her shout would hit, and took a deep breath.

Too slow. Miraak grabbed her throat, blocked her lungs, her words, and slowly tightened his grip. She wanted to hit, to scream, but all she could accomplish was tear a small part of his collar. Her vision became blurry, the world was spinning, and she felt her consciousness fade, give up to the one who had brought her down, the one who was now leaning over her, the one who breathlessly whispered:

"You are mine, _Dovahkiin_."

Those words reignited her fighting spirit and agitated her trembling fingers. She tried desperately to push him, punch him, but all she could do was pull on his clothes while the chant of his soul became stronger and, at the same time, softer. Fog in the eyes, her will withering, she was about to let him vanquish, when suddenly, in the middle of her blind assaults, a rush of warmth, a shock too rarely felt before, seized both of them. The hand on her throat relaxed, she spat a painful cough, her vision went from black to white. Her fingers remained clenched on the patch of skin they had uncovered, refusing to let it go, wanting nothing more than to dig out the soul it contained. She had to find more of that burning flesh. She just had to. Nothing in Tamriel could distract her from this newfound goal and she furiously attacked the layers of wool that still got in the way of her touch, quickly imitated by her deadly foe, whose hands were unbuckling her leather armor.

Soon, the stone floor scraped her naked legs, her belly shivered against the cold air of Apocrypha and her nails were scratching a pair of white shoulders. She bit her lip furiously in hope that her moans would keep silent, but, despite these efforts, some made their way out when Miraak drew her hips close to him, very close, as close as their souls could ever get without killing each other. He slapped rough caresses on her thighs, breasts, neck, molested all the burns and bruises he encountered. She tried to think about the eyes of Hermaeus Mora watching them from above, about their fight and the reasons that had brought her here, about the fact that she was totally defenseless in the arms of the most powerful opponent she had ever faced, but any coherent idea shattered against his skin. She let out a hiccup when an exquisite pain pinched her neck, just over her collarbone, then waves of pleasure followed, nourished by each movement, each contact. The bites multiplied, traced a colorful path on her throat, reached the ear, jumped on the shoulder, dared to tease the breasts, and finally chose to devour her jugular again, and she never wondered when he had taken his mask off, wasn't even interested in his appearance. It was just too delicious to care.

The ephemeral delight she found in absorbing a dragon's soul was here, frozen in time, infinite, as simple as an embrace, but the _dov_ always wanted more, and she was no exception. She wanted to taste, to dig through his skin, she wanted to inflict on his body the same treatment he'd unleashed on hers. Trying to break the rythm he had imposed, she pressed merciless fingers on the wound inflicted earlier by Dragonsbane, stealing an annoyed hiss to the man. This slowed him down just enough for her to grip short strands of dark hair and rush at a soft, vulnerable square of skin, right behind his jaw. Miraak froze. She would have sworn she'd heard him moan, but her victorious grin quickly faded as he grabbed her wrists and pinned her down. She hit the ground abruptly, the shock blinded her, buzzing sounds filled her head for a short while, but everything became clear again when a hairy cheek caressed her temple and whispered:

_gol hah dov_

Her rebellious ways vanished, her will softened under the touch of those words, her body relaxed, her legs spread a little more. She was falling, slowly, sweetly, no need to struggle. For the first time since her arrival in Skyrim, it felt right to just let go, give control to another, one who was stronger than her, one who could accomplish so much, if only she gave him her soul.

"_Honei Thu'umi, Dovahkiin ?"_ He asked maliciously, still pressing his head against hers.

"_Geh,_" She answered breathlessly. "_Miraak th-thu…_"

She quickly silenced those words, her dragon blood refusing to capitulate as easily as that. The first Dragonborn growled in frustration, then swiftly freed her hands, caught her hips and turned her around, throwing her chin on the ground, revealing her arched back, exposing it to his devouring fangs.

"_Tinvaak, Dovahkiin,_" he hissed against her shivering neck, roughly closing the gap between their bodies, "_Miraak wo ?_"

Unable to contain her voice, she hid those submissive words in a cry of pleasure, digging the ground with her fingers.

"Has the Dragonborn lost her tongue ?" He mocked, caressing her column with a pointy nose." _Tinvaak. Wo los hin in ?_"

"_Zu'u… Zu'u nunon ini !_" She replied, not without difficulty.

He suddenly slowed his gestures, surprised by her tenacity, then slapped a firm hand on her belly to prevent any attempt to flee, the other following lightly the veins of her throat. Had her perceptions not become numb under their proximity, she might have felt him smile against her back.

"_Losei vazah ?_" He insisted in a burning breath. "Are you certain ?".

"Yes !"

No.

Their souls were restless as he moved faster and faster, as his skin rubbed on hers, as their respirations became erratic. Miraak himself began to lose his calm, sometimes letting his vocal chords vibrate, planting his nails in her hips, or his teeth in her shoulders. The temperature soared between them, soon their cries melded together, their hearts beat in unison and neither tried to speak anymore. They were grabbing, moaning, leaving all coherent thought out of their minds, and the pleasure intensified, more, always more, and their souls sang, and their muscles hardened, and their breaths quickened.

For an instant, everything seemed to stop, the Dragonborns felt the currents of time shiver under their voice, and the woman couldn't tell where her body ended and where his began. However, reality isn't ignored so easily, and Miraak's muscles went limp on his rival's back. Exhausted, she couldn't carry such weight, and fell on her side, still imprisoned by those possessive arms. They both growled when their elbows hit the ground, but didn't show any other reaction. A soft warmth enveloped them, the chant of their soul hummed steadily under their skin, and there wasn't any sign that it would stop. The last Dragonborn didn't want it to stop. If anything, she wished to remain there for as long as possible, and should the price be her life, she would gladly pay it. The mortals had received so much from her already, from Alduin's defeat to the dismantling of some old vampire clan, without counting her prominent role in the civil war. No matter Skyrim, no matter Solstheim, she needed to rest, and rest she would. In the arms of a dragon.

"_Thuri…_" She murmured weakly.

He smiled.

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**Dragon language:  
**_Honei Thu'umi, Dovahkiin ? _- Do you hear my Voice, Dragonborn ?  
_Geh, Miraak thuri. _- Yes, Miraak my lord.  
_Tinvaak. Miraak wo ?_ - Speak. Miraak who ?  
_Wo los hin in ?_ - Who is your master ?  
_Zu'u nunon ini ! _- I am my only master !  
_Losei vahzah ?_ - Is that true ?

I had fun. Lots of fun. Maybe too much fun.  
I hope it is readable and that Miraak isn't too ooc. If you see anything that needs improvement, please, tell me. I want to learn.


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